(As I am walking back to my department, a young couple approaches me with a pre-made shelf.)
Wife: “Excuse me, will this shelf fit everything in our closet?”
Me: “I don’t know; I’ve never been to your house.”
Wife: “Yes, but will it fit everything in our closet?”
Me: “I don’t know; I’ve never been to your house. How much stuff do you have in the closet?”
Husband: “Oh, the usual amount of stuff. Do you think it will fit on the shelf?”
(I give up.)
Me: “Yes.”
(I received a call from my doctor after having some blood work done, telling me to get to the ER immediately for a blood transfusion, as my hemoglobin levels were critically low. A friend of mine takes me and stays with me for support. She likes to try and lighten the mood with a sarcastic sense of humor. This occurs when the nurse brings in the first bag of blood and hooks it up to my IV…)
Me: “Oh, wow… that’s a strange sensation!”
Nurse: “What? It’s not burning is it? Does it hurt?”
Me: “Not at all… It’s just really cold! I’ve never felt cold inside my body before.”
Friend: “Cold? Geez, Nurse! Can’t ya warm it up a little for her?”
Nurse: “…umm.”
Friend: “Just throw it in the microwave for a few minutes! My friend says it’s too cold here!”
Nurse: *mouth agape with a look of horror*
Me: “[Friend]… I don’t think she knows you’re joking.”
Friend: “Oh… Oh, my god! I’m totally joking! Just trying to lighten the mood!”
Nurse: “Oh, thank goodness! I mean, whatever you want to do on your own time, sure… but I’m not wasting precious O negative in this hospital for your little experiment here!”
(We had a good laugh after that. And after two bags of the red stuff my hemoglobin levels were back up to normal!)
(I have just had my bat mitzvah and it is common to get money donations as gifts. My dad wants to open an investing account for me, and we need to call our bank’s 24-hour trading line to open it. The person on the other line is asking me questions that are difficult for a 12-year-old, and I constantly have to ask my dad for the answers.)
Bank: “I’m sorry; we need your answer. You can’t be speaking to anyone else.”
Me: “But I’m 12! I don’t know my SIN number off by heart. Can’t I let my dad speak for me?”
Bank: “No, it has to be you.”
Me: “But I can’t answer them without speaking to my dad.”
Bank: “Just answer the question!”
Me: “I don’t know my SIN off by heart. I’m looking for it!”
Bank: “Okay, forget it. How much do you have in the account currently?”
Me: “I don’t know! Let me log in.”
Bank: “I don’t think you’re really [My Name]. I’m freezing the account; you’ll have to come in to prove you’re really [My Name].”
(My dad wrote a letter to corporate, and now there’s a note in my file that says all my personal questions can be answered by me or my dad until I’m 18.)
(I am eleven years old. My mother works in the kitchen of the local hospital and sometimes her duties involve delivering food trays to the patients. I remember her talking about the times on one floor where she would hear people moaning and crying, begging for morphine, as they lay painfully dying from whatever cancer was taking them from this world. One day, when I am out front of the hospital, I begin talking with a nurse who is waiting for the bus. We touch on a few topics until I remember my mother’s worlds about the terminally ill patients.)
Me: “My mother works in the kitchen and delivers food trays. She has told me about the dying people begging for morphine. Why don’t you give them what they need?”
Nurse: “Because they could become addicted, of course!”
Me: *I pondered her words for a few moments then replied* “Well, why don’t you give them the morphine they need, and then when they die, cut them off?”
Nurse: *giving me the stink-eye* “Little smart-a**!” *walks away in a huff*
Customer: “Hey, where are your groceries?”
Coworker: “Sir, this is an appliance store; we have none.”
Customer: “What do you mean?! What kind of store doesn’t even carry a loaf of bread?!”
(We have also been asked for power tools, televisions, beds, and auxiliary cables for music.)
